


When is a Monster not a Monster?

by AddictHoe8469



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demon Blood, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:55:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29693265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddictHoe8469/pseuds/AddictHoe8469
Summary: AU of Season 9. So Dean never leaves the bunker after 9x10. Things are very tense between them as a result of Gadreel, but no MOC and Abaddon & Metatron need to be taken care of. Also, each chapter changes between Sam and Dean’s POV.The title of this as well as the chapters are inspired by Caitlyns Sieht's poem "Start Here".
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. “Start by pulling him out of the fire and hoping that he will forget the smell. He was supposed to be an angel…” (Sam P.O.V)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction, so advice is welcomed.

He could feel it.

The dirt.

The impurity.

The unholiness. 

The evil. 

No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t scrub it out. The closest thing he had to purity was going through the trials. But then again, he couldn’t even get that right.  
Everyone acts like they can’t see it. As if they can’t look into his very soul and see the fingerprints of the devil himself. 

See the ways his eyes darken when angry. Or when his eyes look almost yellow in the sun. 

Almost. 

On days when he can’t help but reminisce, he remembers the power, the feeling of being able to kill with just a single thought. Being able to kill the ones once said to be “untouchable”.

He hates those days.

When he looks in the mirror he can’t help but see the worst of himself and those caught in the crossfire. 

He sees Lucifer. 

He sees Gadreel. 

He sees Azazel. 

He sees Ruby. 

He sees John. 

He sees Mary.

He sees Jessica. 

He sees . . .  
Dean. 

God. He prays that he could be as clean as his brother. The so-called “righteous man”. The one the angels and possibly God wanted out of hell. Not him though. 

At least he had Cas, he just wishes someone higher saw worth in him being freed. Maybe God himself saw him more than “The True Vessel of Lucifer”. 

More than an ‘Abomination’

‘Boy King’ 

‘Anti-Christ’ 

‘Blood Sucker’

‘Azazel’s Favorite’

‘The Boy with the Demon Blood . . .’

Yeah right. 

It’s funny really. His soul is over centuries-old and he’s 6’4 but they still call him a boy. 

“Sam!”

What was he doing again? 

“Sam! Sammy!”

He sounds… familiar.

“Sammy! Sammy!”

Oh right, Dean. 

Wait, why is he yelling? 

Is he okay? He should probably. . .  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Gasp! 

Sam wakes up with a gasp to a pair of worried green eyes looking down at him and shaking his shoulders. “Sam? Sammy?! It’s okay, it’s okay just breath”. He obliges, and once he’s successfully slowed his breathing he can’t help but wonder. 

‘What happened to me?’

“We were ambushed by Abaddon and her minions, remember?”

‘Oh. I didn’t know I said that out loud.’

“Why do I feel so... “ He breaks off there and realization dawns at him, and Deans’ solemn look confirms his suspicions. 

That’s why he felt it. 

He looks around and takes in the atmosphere of the worn-out factory. The wrecked pipes, the drip-drip of falling water. Walls dwindled by age and slimy floors. He remembers now, they had been on a case involving a vampire’s nest. They had supposedly tracked them to this factory and Abaddon had…  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
NOT LONG BEFORE: 

A group of a dozen or more demons - most likely more - surrounds them. They separate and once Sam is able to decapitate some demons, he sees Dean being outnumbered. He starts to go toward him to assist but is soon stopped in his tracks by an unseen force, quickly he is forced to the wall behind him. Next thing he knows Dean is being restrained by the low-level demons and he is unable to move his limbs from the walls deteriorating surface. Abaddon walks toward him, a wicked smile tucking at her blood-red lips. 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Boy with the Demon Blood,” she speaks with false admiration. 

He’s unable to suppress a small flinch from those words. She seems to revel in his reaction.  
“Wish you would’ve told me about your reputation, seeing as you are made specifically for our God himself, … for Lucifer”. She walks closer to him and grips the bottom of his jaw. Her now black eyes looking directly into his. 

“DON’T TOUCH HIM YOU BITCH OR I SWEAR I’LL KILL YOU” Dean growls at her.  
She turns to him, her face filled with amusement. Then quickly faces the younger Winchester again and continues as if Dean hadn’t spoken. 

“Now, where were we? Right. You should’ve told me, Sam. It’s better to learn through the individual than through gossip” she says conversationally. 

“Screw… you.” he retorts through gritted teeth and flaring nostrils. She scowls in response. Then reaches into her pocket for a small silver dagger. Sam eyes it, his angry and defiant facade faltering a bit. Only a little bit. 

“Oh calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you”. She turns her head to Dean. “Him… well he’s expendable”. At this panic fills Sam’s eyes, his attempts to fight against her hold increasing.  
She continues looking back at Sam's eyes, however not acknowledging his attempt. “I wonder what the blood from a Knight of Hell would do to a specimen like you.” She wonders while playfully stroking his cheek as if he were her lover. He cringes at the feel of her cold, dead fingers. His mind then begins picking up on the intent of her statement. 

Upon his realization, his body fills with trepidation and his blood runs cold. In the background, Dean continues to fight and curse against the demon’s strong grips. She brings the blade to her wrist and slices very slowly as if attempting to tease him. Right away he can smell it, the strong aroma of sulfur. The scent of evil, poison, of … of… 

‘Power.’ 

He blinks and attempts to shake his head against her grip when that thought appears. He can’t become that. 

‘I, you, we could.’ 

She starts bringing her wrist to his mouth. He tries to take his face out of her hand, but she has a fucking strong grip. She pulls at his bottom jaw opening just enough. Dean’s curses, protests, and threats fade into the background as Sam gets a look at the blood on her wrist. His tongue waters. And he hates it. He should be over it. Centuries of the cage (of redemption) should dim his craving, his temptation. 

Guess he was wrong. 

The next thing he knows the taste of metal and sulfur is on his tongue then fills his mouth. He attempts to spit it out, but she has her hand over his mouth and nose. He doesn’t want it.

‘I DON’T WANT IT. (I, YOU, WE NEED IT)’

It goes down his throat as he attempts to take a breath, it burns going down but it feels so damn good. 

She takes her hand away from his mouth and nose. Her other wrist still fixed to his mouth. He can’t find it in himself to fight it anymore. To fight this once dull animalistic craving and desire. 

‘Once an addict, always an addict’

Pure instinct takes over and he’s practically licking the cut trying to get as much blood as possible. Making sure that none is wasted. He’s pretty sure Dean is eyeing him with disgust and disappointment, but he can't bring himself to care. He could feel the power and energy building up. It builds behind his eyes, in his gut, it consumes every inch of him. What were once whispers in the back of his mind have now turned to shouts. (‘MOREMOREMOREMOREMORE’)

Then it stops. Everything comes to a standstill, the shouts, and energy dull, his body numbs.  
She pulls away and he opens his eyes, he didn’t even realize he had closed them.  
Abaddon is smiling wickedly at him. And Dean is… Well, he can’t find the courage to meet his eyes. Can’t bring himself to see the hate, detest, the. . . the . . . ‘fear’. 

‘He should be afraid of me, you, us. I’m, you’re, we’re, way stronger than him than all of them. All I, you, we need is more blood’, his mind whispers. 

The pressure builds between his eyes. Blood is rushing in his ears. Abaddon seems to be speaking, but all he could focus on is the beating of her heart. (‘KILLKILLKILL’) The sound of her and the other demons’ blood rushing. (‘MOREMOREMORE’)

His lips start forming into a grin. He could already feel the cool blood falling from his nose, the blood drying around his mouth. His hands slowly begin to loosen from their fixed point on the wall. The last thing he sees is Abaddon's once satisfied smile falter. Then black begins to fill the edges of his vision, then soon everything follows suit. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
NOW: 

Sam takes into account the number of bodies that surround them, some encompassed in pools of blood. He looks down at his hands, and they're covered in blood (‘not mine’) that hasn’t quite dried yet. 

“Did I . . . did I d-do this?” he asks, but deep down he already knows the answer. He just doesn’t want to believe it. Sure, things have been really bad between them lately. Well, bad would be an extreme understatement. But despite that, he just needs some form of assurance. 

“Sam . . .” Dean begins, his hands still having a tight clutch on Sam’s shoulders. The younger Winchester looks up at him avoiding eye contact. Though attempting to listen to what else he’s saying. Soon his lips are just moving and his voice is drowned out by the growing whispers. 

‘He’s going to lock me, you, us up. Lock the door and throw away the key. He doesn’t need me, need you, need us. I, you, we, need more. 

All he sees is a monster… 

‘It’s not what you’re doing it’s what you are’ 

‘Sam, it means you’re a monster’

‘I’m done trying to save you. You’re a monster Sam — a vampire. You’re not you anymore. And there’s no going back’

and when is a monster not a monster?’

TBC


	2. “but they took him from that light and turned him into something hungry…”  (Dean P.O.V)

This was supposed to be a simple hunt, you know. A simple hunt with vampires. No demons or angels to worry about for a few days.

Who was he kidding how can they not worry about them, mainly the angels. Especially when you’re currently in the aftermath of a situation where you manipulated your younger brother into being possessed. Nothing to worry about. 

Nothing to worry about when Sam refuses to be in the same room as him for more than two minutes. 

Refuses to say more than “I’m fine” with a hoarse voice after screaming in Enochian or Latin from a nightmare. 

God, he misses the days where Sam would let himself get angry. Let himself yell and vent about what’s bothering him or what the other person is doing wrong. Sure, him and Dad hated when Sam acted like that. Even told him to “Grow up” a few times. But this, this passive-aggressive avoidance and almost silent treatment. He never considered that would be worse. 

So yeah when he saw the chance to go on a hunt, a fairly simple hunt. He was fucking ecstatic. Especially when the now rarely speaking Sam agreed to come along. Sure the ride was quiet, nothing like before. But at least they had music to fill in the tense and uncomfortable silence. Then it had been easy to track the supposed Vampires’ nest that had been killing tourists from out of town. It had been simple, too simple. That should’ve been their red herring because now here he is attempting to get through to his baby brother. A brother who had been forced to drink a substance that is very addictive and has a very painful detox. Add on the fact that it isn’t normal demon blood like he used to consume, nope it’s a freaking Knight of Hell’s blood. Which means it may make him more powerful and likely be lethal to detox from. 

‘Should of let Cas come along… dammit.’

He hasn’t even included the part where said brother either drained the remaining demons or mentally murdered them. Yeah, that’s gonna be in his nightmares for a while. Especially since he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him or get through to him. 

That’s beside the point, now they have to figure out what to do next. How Sam’s gonna detox, and how he’s gonna get through to him for God's sake. 

“Sam? Sam, are you hearing me?” he questions worryingly shaking Sam's shoulder. His eyes are staring straight ahead seeing through him. Dean had just been about to answer Sam’s fear-filled question when his eyes had started to lose focus, and he stopped reacting to the sound of his older brother's voice altogether. 

“Sam? Sammy come on this isn’t funny we gotta go, and I don’t feel like carrying your ass so… so” Dean stops as he sees Sam’s eyes attempting to focus a tad. Looking closer he could see his blown pupils and a small ring of hazel. 

Continuing to survey his slumped form, the older Winchester notices the movement of Sam’s lips. Leaning in closer, an ear close enough to feel his ragged breaths Dean could just about make out what he’s saying. 

“Opus magis. Opus magis. Opus magis. Magis potestate. Magis potestate. Magis potestate. Magis sanguine. Magis sanguine. Magis sanguine. Ego te si necessarium sit.”

‘That’s definitely Latin’. 

It’s not that he doesn’t know Latin, it just takes him a bit longer to translate it. That’s why he would leave the exorcisms to Sam most of the time and prefers to use the demon knife. Besides, the damn kid is fluent in it.

After taking a few minutes to wrap his head around a translation, it clicks. And he realizes how fucked they truly are. With that, he jumps into action. 

“Alright well…that means we should get on our way then,” he utters with a false smile and underlining caution. While speaking he even pats his shoulder. Yeah, not one of his smartest ideas, because this causes Sam’s eyes to focus, and then his pupils expand even more until they consume his entire eye. 

‘Son of a---’ 

He never finishes that thought as Sam quickly takes the upper hand and flings him to the wall without laying a finger on him. The impact hard enough to elicit dust from the depilated wall, as well as cause a sharp pain in his ribs and spine. Once he’s able to catch his breath and shake his head from its daze he takes in the character in front of him. 

His younger brother is a small distance away from him, right hand outstretched toward him keeping Dean incapacitated. His eyes are as black as the outside sky, though his skin is pale, sickly. Face displaying no emotion, no excitement nor horror at what he’s ‘not him’ doing, just simply blank, vacant. 

“Sam… S-Sammy come on... it’s me” he rasps trying to suppress the pain throbbing in his back.  
There’s no acknowledgment nor response for a few minutes, until finally, he answers back, “Vos iustus volo prohibere mihi eam nobis”. His voice having a dark undertone to it this time, acting as an echo or shadow of his normally friendly tone. Seeming to be all he needed to say, his outstretched hand slowly begins closing into a fist. This dials the pain in Dean's body from about a four to a fifteen right away. His lungs slowly losing their ability to take in air, and his head beginning to pound with fury. He manages to suppress a shout because he won’t give the blood influencing Sam the satisfaction.  
Running out of options and time he continues attempting to get through to his brother with what little breath he has left. “S-Sam! Snap o-out of it… come on I-I know you can hear me!” he shouts wheezing as his air supply continues to lessen. 

This seems to strike a nerve as Sam’s forehead seems to pinch in pain, finally differing from his previous impassive face. His hand and arm twitching as if it’s getting harder to stay in control. His mouth opening and closing a few times as if attempting to figure out the right words to say. 

“D-Dean?” Sam finally speaks brokenly, though the dark undertone is less obvious which causes Dean some relief. “Aw God Dean… I-I hear i-it, the blood it’s s-so loud.” He says through gritted teeth and blood that is starting to form on his top lip from both nostrils. Then without warning his still black eyes roll to the back of his head and his body crumples to the floor, similar to a puppet with its strings cut. 

His feet are now able to reach the floor when Sam collapses and Dean feels the oxygen return to his sore lungs and the painful pounding in his head dull. Moving closer to his baby brother's limp form he could feel the bruising now on his ribs meet contact with his flannel which causes him to hiss in pain. 

‘Sammy you are so getting me pie after this is all dealt with’

Dropping to his knees next to him, the older Winchester notices the familiar hazel eyes through half-closed eyelids and breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn’t know how much longer he could’ve dealt with seeing that darkness in his normally quiet and sweet brother’s eyes. Hearing about it was a way different experience from actually witnessing it (‘Your eyes went black?’). Once again, another for the nightmare list. 

To ensure he’s truly unconscious and not in a coma he places two fingers on his neck to feel for a pulse. ‘Kind of fast, but I’ve seen worse.’ Making his mind up on what to do as not wanting to waste any more time he speaks out loud “Well looks like we’re doing this the old fashion way” 

Then he moves to a place above Sam’s head and places his hands under his shoulders while bracing for the extra weight, “Alright 1… 2… 3!” On three Sam’s limp form is lifted off the ground and this expectedly causes Dean to grit his teeth in pain. ‘ For sure have a bruised back and ribs’. Hastily he brings his brother’s form upright and places said brother's arm along his shoulders. 

“Wow, Sammy, you're way lighter than you look” he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood as well as prevent focus on his own pain. But all it accomplishes is to remind him of how little Sam had eaten since Kevin and Gadreel. 

Deciding to shift his focus to the present, the older Winchester makes the journey to the factory’s entrance while ensuring the grip on Sammy’s body is tight. Before walking out to the dirt path in front of the building he takes a quick look at the bodies still scattered on the premises. ‘Sorry guys, but my brother comes first’. With this, he also promises to send in an anonymous call to the local police department when they get far enough away. Then they both stepped (Well Dean controlled that) out into the darkness once again with Dean carrying Sam out of the now metaphorical flames.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After about a mile’s walk, one unconscious brother and one very tired one were able to make it back to the impala. ‘If only we could’ve known how this hunt would turn out because then I wouldn’t have parked baby so far’ Dean internally complains. During the trip, Sam hadn’t stirred, well except for the very hushed mumblings primarily in Latin from time to time. While that should’ve been reassuring, all it did was make him quicken his pace. 

Ignoring the now dirty exterior of the impala, Dean checks if the passenger door is unlocked, and lucky for him it is. This elicits a satisfying smirk from him. Then he carefully lowers Sam into the seat, making sure his head doesn’t hit the top of the car. Once guaranteeing he won’t topple over, he tails it to the trunk and unlocks it with the key, hurriedly searching for a pair of warded cuffs. Once finding a pair, he speeds back to Sam’s still unconscious, and bloody, form.

“Sorry, Sammy, but can’t have you trying to kill me while I’m driving,” He says half-joking, half-serious as he cuffs both of Sam’s hands. Getting into the driver’s seat he takes a look at his brother. Despite knowing it’s necessary, he can’t help but feel guilty when he takes a look at his restrained hands. With a deep sigh, he shifts his focus on the road ahead.

“Alright, we can fix this”, Dean says out loud before inserting the key and starting the engine.  
Cas and I will figure this out, Sammy. We will.  
TBC


	3. “something that forgets what his hands are for when they aren’t shaking.” (Sam’s POV)

Darkness. 

That’s all there is.

Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. Nothing to feel. 

Sure, he can think, reminisce about what was and what will never be again. But, that can only help for so long until you beg for torture. Know you’re begging, but not being able to hear the words, not being able to feel the words come off your tongue, or not being able to see the breath those words produce. Guess he’s not as strong as he once believed. Though he can’t exactly recall the last time he truly believed that.

‘Try Weak. Try Desperate. Pathetic.’

He’s just desperate…

Desperate for the fire that always seems to burn cold. 

Desperate for the feeling of flesh being torn from muscle.

Desperate for the feeling of Lucifer’s hand gripping and corrupting his soul. 

‘We’re two halves made whole. M.F.E.O. Literally…’

Desperate…

He’s not sure how long he’s been in this stage of existence, this stage of oblivion, this stage of simply being. For all, he knows it could’ve been two months or two thousand years.   
It’s hard to know since nothing changes... ever. 

This isn’t the first time he’s been in this state. And he knows it won’t be the last. He has no power here, all he is a rag doll with a name. An archangel’s chew toy, punching bag, plaything, possession. 

That’s all he was and ever will be. The whole time he was called the Boy King, but all he truly was and is, is a crown to be worn. An object to be controlled and manipulated. His body has never been his own, not since he was six months old. 

‘Better than mothers milk…’

There are two constants with these sessions, the constant oblivion and he always comes back. Back to him. Back to the cage. Back to salvation. Sick-twisted salvation, don’t need any shrink to say how fucked that is, nevertheless salvation from nothingness. 

Last time he believed it had been centuries, but Lucifer corrected him stating it had been a week. And Lucifer doesn’t lie to him. 

‘I will never lie to you…’

But, God he hopes he would. 

This time he believed it to be even longer, yet once again he can’t trust his fragmented mind. A reason for this conclusion is that he’s slowly, although surely, forgetting things from before. Before the fall. His fall. Their fall, if he’s truly honest with himself. 

He’s forgotten his, their, our (?) name for instance. 

‘Freak.’

‘Abomination.’

‘Monster.’

He knows it’s not those though, however, they seem to fit one way or another.   
It goes on like that for a while, yet for the third time ‘a while’ can mean a lot more or less than intended. Nevertheless, he keeps forgetting names and faces. 

Every moment spent in nihility is another moment he feels things slip away. This continues for what seems like an eternity until it appears, this sort of whisper. A whisper that seems so dangerous yet so soothing. 

‘‘You, I, we need to come back, back to reality. Back to blood, power, necessity.’ 

He can’t quite understand its intent, although he can’t help but be enticed by it. Enticed by its further offers. The more he listens to its calls the more his surroundings brighten and more sound can be detected. 

“Sam…”   
‘My name’ his mind supplies. 

Then there’s a rumbling of a… of a car engine. ‘The Impala... Dean’.

With that, the light seems to brighten at a faster pace, the noise growing in volume. 

Till his vision goes white...  
______________________________________________________________________________  
Coming back to himself, he recognizes that his eyelids feel as if they weigh a ton as if it would take all of his strength to simply take a peek at the light of the outside world. From what he can till he’s in the impala since he can feel it moving over rough terrain and hear its engine. Overall, this setting is not doing any wonders for the growing pain behind his eyes. 

Attempting to lift his right hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, he cognizes a cool surface that is surrounding both of his wrists. Mustering enough energy, he opens his eyes slowly and looks down at his restrained hands while also making sure to avoid the sun from getting in his eyes. While being cuffed isn’t a new occurrence (get your mind out of the gutter), being cuffed with warded cuffs originally made for demons is. Taking in the sight he attempts to think back to the events before waking up. 

Blood filling his mouth, blood on his hands. Power building, begging to be used. The ba-boom ba-boom of their hearts as well as his own. He's burning, he's for sure burning. Dean’s yelling at him but the voices are so loud. He wants to stop, he thinks he does. But they say no, so he doesn’t… Dean’s voice is now overpowering voices begging for his attention, he could hear him now. It’s hard trying to speak in English but he does, then dark nothingness. No noise, no vision, no smell, nothing to feel. 

Sure enough, his memory is sort of… fuzzy. He can only recall bits and pieces, usually, that would freak him out but all he feels is calmness. Raising his head slowly to not irritate his head anymore, he takes a look at the driver's seat. And there Dean is, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel and foot pushing down on the gas. Squinting his eyes he takes into account the smudge of dark under his brother's eyes and the facial expression of a “man on a mission”. Yup, wish he could remember what Dean’s exact mission may be. 

Clearing his throat Sam finally speaks, “Uh… Dean why… why am I handcuffed?”. This seems to catch Dean by surprise as he jumps from his seat, meaning he didn’t notice he was awake nor that he cleared his throat. So much for his brother’s hunter instincts. “Oh um… sorry didn't mean to scare ya…” Sam mumbles calmly which also appears to surprise Dean. 

“No Sammy, just… just don’t apologize. You just startled me, that's all”, his older brother attempts to reassure. “And before I answer your question, what’s the… the last thing you remember?”. This causes Sam to pause and think back again, this time he gets a little more information as the fog has seemed to clear a bit from his mind. “Not much. I know Abaddon had been there and she.... she… oh.” Realization hits him and the memories flood back. Abaddon, forcing him to ingest demon blood. His powers pleading to be released, to kill. Him drinking and killing the demons left behind. Him... him hurting Dean. Then the voice, but he still can’t recall what it said. 

“Oh… yeah, I um remember most of it now. Are you okay?” he asks calmly, attempting to add some worry, but he simply doesn’t have it in him. This causes Dean to glance at him warily and push further down onto the accelerator. “I’m fine, nothing aside from the normal bumps and bruises”, Dean assures him though noticing the peculiar calmness. “Besides it’s you I’m worried about, especially since this is the first time you’ve been up and coherent. As well as speaking in English.” his older brother said while quietly grumbling the last part. “Anyways before you ask we’re about 60 miles out from the Bunker and Cas is there to help if anything turns sideways. But how are you feeling, and please don’t say ‘I’m fine”. 

Sam who had simply been listening to him speaks up. “Yeah... I’m definitely not fine.” he gestures to his trembling hands. “I think withdrawal is gonna start kicking in soon, and I could feel the uh… the blood and it’s kind of dulling now. I also haven’t heard any voices since waking up, all there seems to be is a throbbing headache and general tiredness,” he says in an attempt to answer Dean’s question. Answering truthfully about how the withdrawal is starting would for sure help in the long run, especially since it worked last time after Famine. Though he can’t find it in himself to be worried. 

His older brother seems to nod in acceptance, but from what he can till that’s the end of the discussion for now. He’s okay with it though because he could feel his body starting to tire. Once moving his cuffed hands into a comfortable position he lays his head on the cool window. Shutting his eyes, he obliges to his body's request for sleep. As his mind drifts off though, he could hear the increase of the whisperings. Instead of fighting them, however, he simply listens and finds himself comforted and the voices oddly... 

Soothing.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. I’m kind of having writers block at the moment. But imma keep on trying to continue. 
> 
> Also thank you to whoever commented and liked my story so far, I didn’t actually think anyone would be interested in it. This mostly started since I couldn’t seem to get out of my Supernatural phase, especially after the finale. Another reason is that I’ve just been bored in Quarantine, since all i’ve been doing is school and reading. Posting will be kind of erratic since I get inspiration at the weirdest times. So uh yeah, until next time :)


	4. “He will lose so much, and you will watch it all happen because you had him first…” (Dean’s POV)

He peers over at his brother’s sleeping form and takes a sigh of relief. Could’ve been worse, way worse. Since leaving the abandoned factory his brother hadn’t fully woken up, not until right now. The past hours had instead been filled with eerie Latin mumblings and weak pulls at the ironed cuffs. If he looks closely he could see how irritated Sam’s wrists are becoming. Lucky enough for them there’s been barely any traffic and thanks to his excellent driving skills they made what was originally a 36-hour drive into about a 13 hour one. 

Though a wonderful feat, he could feel his body’s growing need for sleep. Stopping for coffee is out of the question unfortunately since 1) Sam might wake up and not be himself and 2) his withdrawals may get too much to handle. 

After witnessing his baby brother’s oddly calm demeanor, he’s fairly certain if the time does come it would be the first option. He shifts in his seat to make himself and his injuries more comfortable and continues to push down on the accelerator keeping his eyes and focus on the road in front of him. 

‘Everything’s gonna be alright’ he thinks, but truth be told there isn’t much to back that up.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
When he’s only about 8 miles away his phone rings. He searches his jacket hastily but doesn’t find it there. As it continues to ring to the tune of AC/DC’s “Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution'', he strategically reaches his right hand to the back seat while keeping his other hand tight on the steering wheel. After seconds of simply grabbing at empty air he finally feels his cell phone and grabs it, then brings it to his ear ignoring the caller ID. 

“Hel-” he begins, but is cut off. 

“How far are you?” 

“Well, hello to you too Cas… we’re about uh eight miles out,” he answers checking the passing sign.

“That’s good. How’s Sam, still incoherent?”

“Well, he’s currently sleeping.” He shifts the phone to a more comfortable position. “Seems like withdrawal is starting to kick in. But yeah he did wake up… but he was acting strange”. 

“Strange? Dean, what do you mean by strange?” Dean can practically conjure the incredulous face Cas likely has. 

“I mean like he’s calm… and before you say that should be a good thing he’s just way too calm. Like… like when he was soulless calm”. He whispers the last part checking that Sam is still sleeping. 

“Hmmm…” Cas hums over the phone. 

“Really, ‘Hmmm’ that’s all you gotta say about it. Is this like, oh I don’t know, a side effect of a Knight of Hell’s blood or… or withdrawal?!” he silently yells into the phone while remaining mindful of his sleeping brother. 

“It is possible, yes. I could attempt to have a better look when you two arrive, but with my weakened grace it will be more difficult… so I am going to search the library and see if there’s anything that could assist us.” 

Taking a deep breath and bringing his hand down his face he replies, “Alright, sounds good. We should be there soon, and um Cas… sorry for kind of snapping at you, I know you’re only trying to help”. 

“It is okay Dean, I understand.” and with a click, the call ended. 

Closing his phone, he places it in his jacket pocket and looks over to his younger brother. Who so happens to not be sleeping and has his head bent down toward his restrained hands again with his hair covering his facial features. ‘So much for my so-called “hunter instincts”.’ He silently chastises. 

He opens his mouth with the intent of saying some kind of joke to lighten the mood, but Sam beats him to it. “You could’ve just asked Dean,” he says with a hint of dark undertone returning. Though you have to strain your ears to hear it. Lucky for Dean, he’s known this kid since he was in diapers so he notices the little things. Who said being a big brother didn’t have its perks? 

If the undertone is any indication, he knows to keep calm and act like everything is normal. Because he has it all under control… right?

“I know Sammy, and I’m sorry. I should’ve come to you first, alright.”. Looking over again at his brother, he expects another cryptic response. Not receiving one he continues. “So if it’s alright. What is the whole passive mood about?” he questions, attempting to make this seem like one of their many normal conversations. ‘Yeah, like it’s normal to hunt monsters with your little brother, who just happens to have an addiction to demon blood’

A minute passes in silence, and in that time they’re getting closer and closer to the bunker. Finally, the youngest Winchester speaks, “Because, they said so”. Though only a few words, they cause Dean’s chest to tighten because what the fuck!? What the actual fuck!? The things he’s saying are too familiar to the time after Sam’s wall had broken, though the way he speaks it is too impassive and emotionless like when he was soulless. 

He opens and closes his mouth while contemplating what to say. But, no words come out. What is he supposed to say? Like oh yeah, it’s so cool that you’re hearing the voices that had originally told you to kill your big brother. Yeah, absolutely not. Instead, he chooses to push down even more on the gas pedal, because this is for sure a sign to get back as soon as possible.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
As he prepares to enter the old bunker’s driveway he takes one more look at Sam, since the kid had been very quiet in the last few minutes or so of the drive. Lucky, for him, he’s fallen asleep. Though he wonders what happens to Sam when he goes unconscious. Shaking his head to banish that thought, because he cannot go down that rabbit hole right now, he carefully parks the impala next to one of the bunker’s dusty cars and turns the engine off with a heavy sigh which ends in a wince as he is once again reminded of his injuries.

He quietly gets out of the driver’s seat, ensuring as to not rouse his brother. Because if he does wake up, he doesn’t know who or what he’ll be faced with. It’s either a black-eyed little brother, a strangely calm one or his normal pain in the ass one with his big hazel puppy eyes and nerd talk. And God he hopes for the last one. 

Making sure to lock the car he walks through the door of the garage that leads to the bunker’s halls to search for Cas. Since there is no way he’ll be able to carry his brother entirely by himself, especially if he doesn’t want to further wound himself. ‘Ain’t as young as I used to be. But then again I am technically like 75 so... not bad’ 

Walking to the library he finally comes across Cas’s rigid form hunched over at one of the desks, his nose in a book. He scoffs a bit realizing how many times Sam had looked like that since finding this place, and how hard it was to take him away from that position. “Hey, Cas.” Castiel jumps a bit at his voice. ‘He wasn’t kidding about the weak grace, he’s not usually this jumpy.’ 

“Dean. Where’s Sam?” He questions avoiding any questions on his jumpiness. “Well about that…” Bringing his hand to point to his ribs, Dean continues. “He’s in the car, and I sort of hurt my ribs and back when we were at the factory. So I need some help carrying him out the car and into the uh dungeon”. ‘Ugh… that’s a sentence I wish to never say again’

Nodding to assure his understanding, Cas then walks over to Dean lifting two fingers to his forehead. While he does this Dean closes his eyes and feels the familiar warmth of Cas’s grace begin to alleviate his pain. This works until suddenly the aching feeling returns at full force producing a small gasp. Cas quickly pulls his hand back, as if he had been burned. 

“I am sorry, it seems I’m not strong enough to heal your ribs. But… I could still assist with Sam”. He says with disappointment and a small hint of shame. 

“Don’t worry about it Cas, I could just wrap them up after we get Sammy situated. It’s not like I haven’t had worse”. Dean reassures, noticing his friend’s shame. “Now… we should get Sam before he wakes up and decides to throw one of us around”.   
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
It wasn’t as difficult to carry Sam to the dungeon as it was back at the factory, what with an Angel of the Lord taking most of his weight. Seriously, was it just him, or had he gotten heavier since they had left the abandoned facility? Thinking about it, it was likely just exhaustion and pain wanting to make themselves known. 

He’s been sitting in one of the wooden chairs watching Sam’s silent and oddly calm form on the cot that had been prepared by Cas for the past hour now. Sam hadn’t stirred aside from the rise and falls of his chest when they brought him to the dungeon, not even when they had to bind his legs and arms to the cot’s metal frame. It’s uncomfortable how many times they’ve had to do that, it never gets easier. 

From then he had made a quick trip to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. Black, no creme. Just how he liked it. Coming back in Castiel had tended to his injuries because the events of the night before were starting to take a toll on his outward appearance. This being in the form of black shadows under his eyes. Well, he’s sure the shadows are going to look a hell of a lot worse once the hallucinations start. Since there is no way he is going to leave his brother to go through this alone, again that is. After everything that’s happened in the past few years, including Sam’s time in the cage, he’s pretty sure this detox is gonna be ten times worse than it already is. Add to that the fact that the blood that he was forced to consume was stronger and he was hearing already voices. 

He for sure needs to be here with him. His brother was his responsibility, his job, and he couldn’t let him down again. 

So here he is, Cas had left the room a little while ago after checking Sam. He had declared there wasn’t anything unusual aside from the additional amount of demon blood. Yeah, right. He hated to think it, but he had his doubts. If Cas wasn’t strong enough to heal him who’s to say he could detect everything going on with his little brother? Despite his Angel friend’s assuredness, he still saw a bit of his hesitance as he had given the news. That is probably why he excused himself with the excuse of checking the Men of Letter’s files. Though Dean doesn’t have much hope in him discovering anything, he’s fairly certain there’s never been a person addicted to Demon Blood, let alone one who’s detoxed from it. Anyone who wasn’t Sam Winchester that is. ‘The damn kid always had to stand out.’

He covers his mouth as a yawn comes out of him. Then he places his face in his hands. He is so tired. The coffee he had managed to grab from the kitchen is practically useless. If he’s being honest it feels as if it’s happening the opposite effect on him. That being making him more exhausted. 

His eyelids feel so heavy, like weights begging to be settled down. Maybe he could just rest them for a bit... just for a little bit. 

Yeah, rest is all he needs. 

He’s half-way to unconsciousness when he feels the hair on his arms and neck rise. The temperature in the room seems to fall. The light bulbs flicker. 

And Sam begins to scream. 

TBC  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've gotten this far, thank you for sticking around. I had a bit of writer's block in this chapter. But, I think the ending went well. Sorry if the dialogue is kind of off, I've always been better at internal writing instead of external. If that makes sense. 
> 
> The next chapter will have both Sam & Dean's POV's 
> 
> Also before I forget, this is my Tumblr (I am aware that it's 2021) 
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/demonbloodhoe83
> 
> Or just search my username demonbloodhoe83
> 
> Advice & ideas are encouraged in the comments!


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